Bait and Switch
by SydneyKate
Summary: While on the run, Aiden screws up a simple carjacking, leading him to reluctantly take in innocent bystander, Kate. Now caught in a game between the Fox and the rat, she'll have to put her faith in him if she wants to survive. Convinced he's a criminal, and rightly so, trusting Aiden is easier said than done. Aiden Pearce x OC Defalt x OC Wrench, Jordi Chin, Non-con, Smut, Humor
1. GTA Chicago

My last-minute flight out of Logan Airport had been a long seven hours of space invasion and over-salted pretzels. I hated heights, the very idea of flying- always had; when everyone was obsessing over Peter Pan and saying, "I want to fly," I was happily reading books and anchoring myself to the ground. But finally, the plane touched down in Chicago and I survived all the elbows in my space and the sodium overdose.

The 'fasten seatbelt' light went off and I half heartedly listened to the uproar of chatter while reflecting on the first layover in Philadelphia. It was three hours ago that I had experienced what only canned sardines can relate to—everyone trying to fit into the aisle and out the door all at once. Having this experience under my belt only seemed to dredge up dread for the entire second leg of the flight. All of those "breathing tricks" and "happy place" techniques couldn't deter my mind from remembering the battle of disembarkment. Anxiety had a fierce grip.

The gentleman to my left whacked his head standing up and I let out a breath I'd been unknowingly holding. He tried to act like he didn't just bonk himself on the head and all I could muster was "Made it." I had made it; in one piece, alive, and fairly well. Perhaps I'd get used to airplanes? ...no. No, I would not.

The P.A. chimed and the captain enthusiastically thanked us 'for flying with United Aeroway', though I doubted anyone listened. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the door, passengers were wrestling bags from the overhead compartment and continuing to push forward into the aisle, even my row buddy had moved an inch or two forward in line. The captain had barely enough time to hang up the mic and then the collective rush began, everyone wanted out. I wanted out too—the indents on the arms of my seat were proof enough, but I decided to be smarter this time. I patiently sat in my seat until the murmuring crowd had pushed and tripped themselves out of the doorway, after the horde had passed through just the few sensible remained. Once it was clear, I got up casually and grabbed my carry-on from overhead and wheeled it down the narrow aisle. In a timely fashion, immediately, I turned on my cell phone and stared at the small screen powering up, blissfully ignoring the flight crews' cheery smiles and waves as much as humanly possible.

I passed through the tarmac and entered the airport to a burst of cold air conditioned air and a plethora of advertisements. It was busy, too busy; Giant electronic signs touting CTos2 family safety, the smell of coffee, some wkz news feed filled the spaces between inaudible conversations and overhead droning. Stark white fluorescence overhead washed out any color variance and I found it hard to concentrate under the artificial light. I was definitely in Chicago, this was absolute, but this wasn't a vacation or a family reunion. Maybe you could stretch the truth and call it a deranged family reunion of sorts, but it was far from a barbecue social.

I came to this ironically orchestrated personal hell because my brother had been sick for quite some time. I guess I remembered him always having a chest cold and a cough, but at some point, he had found out it was something else and kept it to himself. The doctors had thought it was chronic pneumonia and bronchitis when he was a teenager, but then years later it made itself out to be lung cancer: terminal. He was my little brother, and as children we were great friends—we shared everything. But not this. I hadn't spoke to him in four or five years, I always seemed to find myself busy, I always had meant to call, but never picked up the phone. I never knew he was on borrowed time until two days ago, but only because he had died. My family's consensus lingered somewhere between my having known all this time and my brother and I being on bad terms and or estrangement. It could never be that I simply didn't know. A large part of me wanted to be spiteful and say I didn't care what they thought, but that tiny voice inside my head knew I'd be in a room with all of them, in a strained silence, alone. I found that I felt rather distraught over their lack of trust.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?", the voice was polite, but annoyance could be heard under its shiny surface.

"Yes?" I looked up, broken from my train of thought. The owner of the voice was a petite blonde who, thanks to the neckline of her blouse being dangerously low, looked like she belonged in the south pinned up on every 16-year-old's wall.

"If you want to board, you'll have to wait in the back of the line." She squeaked with southern mannerism. Her eyes widened and she drew her gaze from me over to where I'd presume the line ended, if and when I'd look. So I waited a moment, to ensure that when I did look that it was my own idea and not hers. Yep, the end of the line. Damn it.

"Sorry," embarrassment washed over me "I just got off a plane, I'm a little..."

"Hun, you're in an airport," She sucked her teeth and it was then I had realized she was being a bitch, "why don't you put your phone down sugar and look up every once in a while."

"Right," I took a step away from the angry conga line and went up an escalator.

As annoying and rude as I found southern-belle-Barbie, I'd deal with her if it meant I could get on that plane and leave. I sighed at the thought of how desperately I wanted to get out of Chicago; the tourist in me was nowhere to be found. It was the constant worry I'd have to face everyone's glare when I got to the wake. Worse yet was that one of those glares would not be my brother's… Josh. His name is Josh. Or at least, it was. He may have been younger, but he had always been taller. I always hid behind him whenever things looked bad and he would dutifully assure me they'd be fine. Josh wasn't here to hide behind, and even if he had been, I wouldn't believe him if he told me "everything was going to be alright."

This time I was sure to pay close attention and pocket my phone. I found my way over to the Hartz Car Rental. Rentals were my last choice, but since my family and I were practically about to throw down, my pride couldn't risk hearing "no" from them. I may have had the pleasure of pity taken upon me by my own mother, but then I'd be trapped. I didn't want to be stuck at a wake full of grieving strangers trying to elicit some emotional response from me. I wanted to-. Even I didn't know what I wanted.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" a woman's voice called out. I snapped out of my pity party and paused in horror of this conversation ending up like the last one that began with "ma'am".

I was spared spiraling into Deja-vu and walked out with a key to a brown boring economy car-one of those Toyeti Celetics, "economy-sports-cars" that looked like they may have almost been awesome if not for the fact that you knew the reputation of Toyeti and nothing they made was truly sporty...and it was brown.

"Henry," I declared to the car, "I'm going to call you Henry, and we are going to be great friends." There was that inevitable pang of loneliness as soon as I acknowledged I'd been speaking to the car. "This—this is what it has come down to." My disdain for driving in cities with this car was going to be my only intelligent conversation for the entirely of my stay and I damn well knew it. I put a hold on that thought-why was I convinced I wasn't going to incur the wrath of the entire Tristatt family, extended family, friends, neighbors, and football-sized pets at this thing? Maybe things would be fine? Maybe I wouldn't have to talk to the car. Maybe Josh's death will bring us all together. Then again, my step father had instant messaged me this morning that he blamed me for Josh's silence, so maybe I'd just avoid talking to him.

By the time I found my way out of the concrete parking garage, it was almost 3PM with a gently setting sun and what looked like miles of traffic. Though I was in a car for at least twenty minutes, I could feel the cold autumn air filter in and start to work on my resolve. I found it odd for a moment as I'd imagined Chicago would be warmer than Boston because it was out west, but then I realized that we were the same longitude, both places at the mercy of the northern fronts.

I glanced over at the digital clock: ninety minutes until showtime. 'Arrive early, leave early'. I pressed the FM button and the radio chimed a "special WKZ news update" followed. It was something about hacking-maybe some axe wielding maniac, and gang related stuff. Nothing that I was particularly focused on. Chicago has a reputation and this only confirmed it. I wasn't here for the drama of the city, I wasn't invested in its politics or crime. I'm just here to do my thing and get out.

I glanced back down at my phone as the map app started and claimed a twenty-minute e.t.a. I was relieved it wasn't going to be that long of a ride—along with airplanes, I hated city traffic, so the quicker the better.

About 6 minutes into the drive things seemed fine; no-one hit me and I didn't hit them. Immersed in that typical agitating city stop-and-go traffic, I found it easy to look past the brake-lights and become absorbed in the alien architecture of the tall buildings and the "art" scattered through-out. Someone beeped behind me and I noticed the light I sat at had turned green; maybe architecture was taking my mind off traffic a bit too much. I drove through the intersection and hit... another red light. A quick peek down at my phone, wondering if the app could reroute me through traffic. It couldn't. In fact, the map app hadn't updated my position and couldn't do shit at the moment. "The fuck?" I exited the map app and reopened it, hoping that something would refresh or reload—but nothing. I noticed my cell signal was non-existent. I had to either go straight or go left-and the only other thing I relied on my phone to do aside from making calls, was not working. The light had turned green and I opted to take a left across a long bridge.

I quickly got the sense I hadn't taken the right turn. Once I drove over the long bridge the buildings became houses and the houses were tightly placed and bordered on the condemned side of the spectrum. My brother wouldn't live here, he had standards. I glanced down at my phone, waiting for it to rescue me from uncertainty. No signal. No directions. No rescue. I looked back up at the street for a sign or an indication of how to get back on the highway. Instead, I became increasingly aware of the neighborhood sitting on their front porches, pedestrians in hoodies with pants practically down to their knees, and a lot of young girls out on every corner. Call it profiling, but I locked the doors and told myself I wouldn't be making any stops—not if I could help it. Though, as if on cue, the light that I was approaching changed—so much for not stopping.

I'm a law-abiding citizen, so I stopped at the light and I waited for my phone to get its act together, "recalculating". My heart skipped a beat and a smirk spread over my mouth. The light turned green and I waited a moment for the new route. Before my foot could touch the gas pedal and release the clutch, all of the locks popped up in one hollow 'thunk'. I froze-maybe I accidently unlocked it with my elbow? I turned to look at the buttons on the side of the door and found a tall man in a brown coat looming by my window. I raced to hit the lock button, but he pulled the door open before I could reach it.

"Out," was all he said.

I stared blankly, not processing the situation, "What?"

"Out, now." He reached in and grabbed me by the arm and I grabbed my e-brake handle to keep me inside the car. Damn it 'Henry', apparently you weren't shitty enough to not get yourself stolen.

I did the only sensible thing that came to mind and kicked out with my left leg. "No!"  
My eyes went wide; I didn't think that one through. He put something in my face and  
I stared passed it, trying to see him, until I realized that 'something' was a gun, "shit."

"Get the fuck out." His eyes narrowed and that's all I could tell of his expression as the rest was hidden behind some sort of ski-mask or—

He tightened his grip and pulled my arm harder and pressed the barrel of the gun into my forehead. I wouldn't say I cried, but I definitely could feel tears starting to form over my vision.

"I'm not getting out, I can't stay here!" I cried out with conviction, which was odd because inside I was asking myself what the hell was wrong with me. I wasn't sure why I was willing to risk my life for a car that only assured my misery once it took me to where Loogle Maps so desperately wanted to reroute.

The sound of something distant slamming and screeching echoed out into the night, both myself and my assailant turned to see. The would be carjacker looked up and sighed angrily, tensed his grip on my arm then let it go. He leaned in, "Slide over!" I must have stared too long because he cocked the gun and pressed it harder to my head, "Move, now." I snapped out of it and scrambled for the passenger seat, ending up with my back to the dash and door. With the gun still in hand he got in, slammed the door and stomped on the gas.

This wasn't quite what I had in mind when I refused to leave my car: I was leaning towards him leaving me and my rental alone. He tucked the gun in the waist of his pants and pulled out his phone. He looked up at the road for a moment, glanced back down and yanked the wheel so hard that the back tires slid out and the car squealed as it turned sharply. Make no mistake, there were other cars on this road and he swerved around them as he regained his speed down the highway. I must have made a noise, or it could have been the way I'd been holding onto my door because he glanced over quickly and said "seatbelt?"

We were quickly approaching the city, again, and all the cars were beginning to blur together. A jerk of the wheel broke me from my thoughts. I looked over at him—his attention shot down on his phone and with a quick glance back on the road another jerk of the wheel to correct the vehicle veering off I began to think the shady neighborhood was perhaps the better choice.

"Still standing by your decision?" It was the second thing since he'd gotten in the car that sounded sarcastic.

I opened my mouth to say something, it was clear he wasn't going to shoot me—he'd had done it already, and though I was still terrified, I wasn't sure I liked the snarky comments at my expense. Before I got a word out, my car drove through 3 lanes of traffic and onto an off ramp. My head slammed into the window and my hand quickly rose up to put pressure on where it throbbed "ah, fuck," I whimpered.

I pressed myself against the door, now squarely sitting in the passenger seat and looked up at him again—his attention oscillated quickly between the phone and the road, faster than before. My eyes flickered down to his gun, halfway in his pants with the hilt exposed where coat didn't fall back over it. He was fixated on the road, still accelerating, and still swerving through traffic. I bit my lip and inched my hand to the center console.

"Don't," he warned, his tone still unchanged.

"Can I get out now?" feeling that my life was in more danger in the car, than out.

"It's a little late to change your mind," He looked in the rearview mirror, his grip audibly tightened on the wheel, and then an explosion shook underneath the car and sent the rear up right before the tires met the pavement again and bounced. The metal frame of the car groaned for a moment and I whipped around in my seat to see a car behind us caught in a pressure burst of steam out if a crater in the road. It slammed less gracefully than poor Henry had and ceased moving.

"Holy fuck!" I was starting to go into hysterics now, but continued to look back to the scene as we sped away. Through the chaos, two black cars muscled their way around the pit and started our way. The carjacker must have seen it too, because our car whined as it picked up speed and he pulled me down into my seat.  
"ShitShitShit! Is this a car chase? Did you steal my car and kidnap me because you're being chased?" I watched the cars gain in the right-side mirror.

"Kidnap?" He was surprisingly calm despite the situation, but choked on the word, "I tried really hard not to _kidnap_ you..." He pulled up on the e-brake and the car did a hairpin turn before he released it and sent us in a new direction.

I must have looked more concerned than I had when he nearly blew up the first car because he had rested his phone on his knee, reached over me, and pulled my seatbelt over and buckled it—straining to keep his eye line over the dashboard. l managed to maintain my one-sided staring contest, waiting to hear if this was indeed a car chase.

He grabbed his phone and looked over at me, wide-eyed. "I'll try and get you out of this in one piece—sound good?"

I didn't answer, it seemed rhetorical. I returned my eyes to the road ahead and it was then I noticed we were barreling towards an intersection—our light was red.

"Umm?" I questioned, hoping he'd noticed. He ignored me and gripped his phone. I could hear the engine strain to fulfill his demands as we continued forward. "Hey, the light!" I pointed. Maybe it wasn't obvious to him. He was clearly a distracted driver. However, when he failed to respond or slow down, my breathing picked up and I started pressing the invisible brake down on my side. The light hadn't changed and nor did our direction. We were about 15 feet from the intersection when the lights went green. Cars casually rolled through the intersection but we miraculously managed to weave through. I looked back at the side mirror and the sound of metal impacting metal rang out. Our pursuers became entwined with cross traffic and were left behind in a sea of beeps, bent metal, and smoke.

"So, if this car chase is done..."

"Almost." He turned off the day-time running lights and made a quick turn between two tall brick buildings. The car idled for a second and then the engine shut off.

"What are we doing?" I looked down at his gun again. Were we in an alley because this was the end of the line for me? He put his phone on his knee again and slouched down in his seat. He undid my buckle and motioned for me to follow suit. He didn't make eye contact or say anything but his breaths were heavy and slow, the only audible thing in the car. "Look, I just want to go." I put my hand on the door handle and he rushed to grab my arm and pull it to the center of the car.

"Relax. You're going to be alright." He looked at the rear-view mirror and my eyes darted up that way as well. A black car crept by, along the street, hesitantly passing the alley. Its brakes made a high-pitched squeak as it slowed, reversed, and turned to come down this way.

My heart thumped in my ears and my breaths became audible. This guy was out of his fucking mind to just wait here, and if he was running from these guys, how bad were they ? I glanced down at his phone, still resting on his knees. I did a quick visual sweep for my own that had gotten lost in the shuffle—probably somewhere on the floor, under my seat. I'd need to call for help. I looked quickly back at his phone then through the window. I couldn't exactly call the police—I'd be in Chicago longer than I had any desire to. I'd let this go if I could walk away from it. I'd call for a ride, get to the wake, family dinner, airport.

I looked at him, his profile partially draped in shadow, just his green eyes catching the light over the dash, still looking in the mirror out the back window. I followed suit and checked my own side view mirror one more time; a black Owdi had stopped a few yards behind us. The carjacker's grip had loosened on my arm over the center console. If I was going to make a move it was now or never. I tested my right hand on the door handle and in one smooth movement opened the door, pulled my hand from his grasp and grabbed his phone. I slid out into the narrow space between the car and the brick wall and scurried to the front of the car.

The doors opened from the car behind my own and three grey-suited men stepped out, guns drawn, towards my car and me. "Fuck."

"It's not him." One said.

"Wrong car?" Another questioned.

"Where the fuck is he?" This question was aimed at me. He brought the muzzle of his gun into view, aimed: though from this distance I couldn't tell where it'd hit.

I was unsure what to do aside from put my hands up and maybe plead to be spared. Twice in one day I've had a gun pointed at me, but never before in my life up to this point. I got the very distinct feeling I was going to be shot whether I answered or not. I quietly watched, arms raised, frozen, as two of the men crept along side the driver's side of my car.

"I asked you a fucking question," eyes locked on me as his associates navigated the slightly wider space between the vehicle and the wall. In a burst of movement, the driver's side door opened and the carjacker stepped out and swung open an expandable baton. He bashed one guy's face point blank with the back of it and charged forward to spin the other guy around. The carjacker grabbed guy-number-two's forehead, tilted it back, dropped the baton, grabbed the gun tucked in his pants and shot him in the back of the head. He stepped back to let bogie number 2 fall, then stepped over him, towards the third one who no longer had his gun aimed at me.

I felt my knees buckle at the casual manner he'd killed someone and instantly regretted my decision to take the phone.

Luckily, the third guy from the car opened fire—never did I think I'd find that lucky—and the carjacker ducked down out of sight. I took this opportunity to run, and I did; out of the other side of the alley and into a crowd of pedestrians .


	2. A Digital Trip

The calm of the street felt surreal as I hurried along a sidewalk, safely encased in a group of strangers. My goal had been to put as much distance between myself and Henry, but I found that I'd constantly look behind me, wondering if it would be the man in the grey suit or the carjacker who emerged. Though, it wouldn't matter who survived; I had made it less than a block away before the 5 police cruisers zoomed by, gathering at the mouth of the alley. CTos was good like that; response time was quicker, the police knew ahead of time what they were going in to-it felt like a win-win for everyone.

Breaking from the crowd, I moved near the edge of the sidewalk towards the road, thinking back on my initial decision to not go to the police. They were conveniently_ right there _. I hesitated, turning to continue down the sidewalk, then turning and heading back towards the cops. I'd happily tell the cops everything and I'd give them the phone. Maybe I wouldn't get in trouble for how absolutely destroyed Henry likely was. I'd feel safer with them than looking over my shoulder for my stay in Chicago.

It was a feeling that I hadn't anticipated, but the closer I drew near to the cops, the more panicked I felt. Everything for the last thirty minutes rapidly fired across my mind. It took the subtle vibrations of my newly acquired phone to be the proverbial pinch. I stopped dead in my tracks, dread washing over me in a rush of heat. I looked up at an officer, about 12 feet away, close enough that I could see his face and hear his voice-help was almost tangible. What if I yelled out to them? The phone spasmed again in my palm. I held the cell at waist height and did a double take when _my _phone number lit up across the bottom of the screen. I slid the answer-bar, "Hello?"

"You left?" The voice was so nonchalant that it took a second to register who it was.

"You're...alive?"

"I am," very matter-of-fact, "but I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I looked around, trying to pinpoint where he was, if we were thinking the same _what_. I didn't see him, though much couldn't be seen with the strobing lights, "Do what? I'm not doing anything." I took a few steps back.

"Good," he sounded indifferent, "Now then, you have something of mine."

"I'm sorry..." I was unsure what the indifference in his tone had meant, but seeing as how he had been casually homicidal, I doubted it was actual indifference, "I needed a phone, I need to call…I lost my phone in the car—"

"I noticed." the faint sound of people talking filtered in, "Would you like it back?" I could hear in his voice that he was walking, something in the way he breathed.

I turned around quickly and scanned the crowd for him—he wasn't there. Abruptly, my herd stopped and I along with them, awaiting the pedestrian light to turn, "Hello?" He'd been quiet.

"Can't see me?" The monotone had dissipated, leaving something that resembled a taunt. He _was _able to see me. He knew I was looking for him. He knew I was walking towards the cops. But where was he?

I looked again and scanned the crowd, had even checked across the street to my right, but there was no-one quite as tall as I was sure he'd been, and no one was looking at me. "Where are you?" I didn't want to ask because I didn't want to know, but I was pretty sure there would be repercussions for taking his phone and I was thinking one if those repercussions would involve what happened to those guys from the alley.

I turned around in one last effort to spot him when I noticed a tall man donning a black hat—our eyes met. It was him! Every hair on the back of my neck stood up and my chest tightened as he slid between people effortlessly, intimidating, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You didn't exactly adhere to a _single _thing I said, but I'm not particularly up for killing you," monotone, he broke eye contact and looked up ahead at the pedestrian light. Everyone started crossing, "stay put."

Being rid of the phone would be a relief: it didn't seem like I'd have a moment to myself to call for help and I had a nagging suspicion that there was more to his phone than just a really good data plan. I took a step into the street and reluctantly looked back to see his pace quicken once I had moved. He killed one man, possibly two, stole my car, and broke every traffic law I could name—was he really going to simply trade phones and slither back to whatever hole he crawled out of? I doubted it. He had said I'd be alright, but I was far from it. I had begun to think that the only bargaining chip was this phone, but it was going to prove to be a double-edged sword.

The sound of metal brakes screaming under friction caught my attention and I looked up at the suspended tracks overhead. It was the commuter rail. I couldn't remember what they had called it, but I remembered hearing that they were extensive; as in 'far away from here', extensive. I considered the rusty metal staircase that stretched up to the train platform, across the street to my left, and then I looked back. He was three people away. His eyes changed as he drew the realization of what I was about to do before I even knew I was going to do it.

"Don't," was all he got out on the line before I took the phone from my ear and booked it.

My heavy footsteps that slammed against the street I had crossed now clanked against the metal stairs. In my rapid ascent, I was sure I'd unapologetically shoved quite a few people out of the way, but considering my circumstances they'd serve as obstacles if he pursued me this far. When I made it to the first landing I looked down the stairs, against my better judgement, to see him scrambling to make his way up—staring me down all the meanwhile. I raced up the second set of stairs to hear the first telephonic "ding" of the doors and nearly tripped over the threshold. I regained my composure as the doors slid closed behind me, signaled by another "ding". I gasped for air and turned to face the door only to be startled by the carjacker's face on the other side of the glass panel. He hit the door haphazardly with his fist, likely because I was protected by the simple fact that there were people everywhere, witnesses.

He put the phone to his ear, maintaining eye contact, as the train started to crawl forward. Keeping my eyes on him I hesitantly followed suit and listened through the now static line.

"Right," it sounded calm and his face remained emotionless as the train strained to gain speed, "that wasn't quite what I meant by "stay there"."

"Uhhh…," was all I got out before I ran out of intelligible things to say.

"I'll be seeing you soon." Cold and something else underlying.

"I really...hope...not." I could hear the uneasiness in my own voice over the hum of the train and I had wondered if he could too.

The phone made an odd noise and in taking it away from my ear, I realized he'd hung up. Dread started to flare up. I was unsure how he planned on finding me, but I knew that before that happened I needed to find help.

I stayed on the train for almost an hour and a half and had gotten off a few stops short of completing the loop at Keele. I had time to assess what I had; the clothes on my back, my wallet safely tucked into the surprisingly functional pocket of my jeans, and a phone that I regretted taking. That was all I had. The rest of my life was back in Henry's little trunk, which was in an alley. I didn't dare go back to it in fear he'd drawn the same conclusion, or worse, those gray suits had friends and they were hanging around-so I pressed on and put my mind to finding my family.

It was almost six; the wake was over and my family would be heading out somewhere dinner, if they weren't there already. Calling my mom was my first impulse—she habitually looked at her phone any spare moment she had and would likely be sympathetic to my plight, but when I went to dial her number on the foreign phone, I had realized my dependency on technology was ultimately crippling: I didn't know it. I opted for plan b; find a cab and get to my family as fast as possible. I had no way of knowing where'd they be, but I knew the last place they had been; the funeral home in Parker Square.

A cab, though not cost effective, was efficient as far as time went. I wasn't surprised when I found the parking lot of the funeral home empty, the lights off and the front door locked, but I was upset and starting to feel helpless all the same. I parked my butt on the front steps and hoped one of my family members would show up once they'd realized I was missing.

A bit of time had gone by and my need to be preoccupied coupled with my habit of going on Reddit had me scrolling through my newly acquired phone's apps. Anything to put off the disappointment I'd had for missing the last chance to say goodbye to my brother. As soon as I thought it, a rush of emotion threatened to pour over the rim of my eyes. "May as well go home." This is what I'd come for and it was over. I wasn't going to lose any sleep not seeing any of my family, though I was sure seeing two people murdered, the car chase, and the car-jacking stalker were going to cost me a few nights.

I looked up into the cloudy October sky. It was now 8PM; dark, cold, quiet. I half wanted to put on my jacket before I caught myself… it's far away, in an alley, along with at least one dead body. I sighed, got up off the steps and began to walk down the street.

Aimlessness and curiosity possessed me to continue to thumb through the phone. It was comforting to have the warm blue light hit my face. It felt normal. The first normal feeling for the day.

A lot of what the phone had to offer were odd apps I'd never heard of; some seemed shady as fuck. A "Digital Trips" Icon caught my eye, so I had scrolled down the loaded playlist; "invaders", "groovy", "coin run", "supersecretlolz". The app felt out of place for what I knew of him, which wasn't a lot, but most people found them relaxing; this man had no chill. "Pretty sure these things are illegal." I fished my ear-bud out of my back pocket, synced it to the phone and selected "groovy". It took the app a few moments to respond, but when it had, it froze and crashed. I reopened the App, finding all trips had been greyed out. The app wouldn't respond again, but I tried selecting "groovy" despite this. It seemed to freeze again, then read 'loading supersecretlolz'. I had just about enough time to raise an eyebrow, sigh in annoyance, and try to close out of it before it loaded.

My vision blurred and the blue glow of the phone engulfed my face until everything was under blue light. I looked up and out of the brightness, confused about what was happening. It felt oddly calming if not for the thudding in my ears being progressively deafening. I turned my head to realize there was a drag in what I perceived to be real-time...I had the wherewithal to know this wasn't real-time, but nothing moved in real-time here. I could see people standing in the distance, a line going around the block.

I quickly crossed the street, "Excuse me," I called out. There was no response. I put my hand on someone's shoulder and when I went to nudge them, the line move quickly, like they were on a bike chain. The line stopped and I saw a familiar face. It was none other than the carjacker. His silhouette filled in and it was like he was staring out, frozen. A line appeared above his head. I clicked the words faster than I could read them. A pit in my stomach formed, as if I'd looped on a roller coaster. Words, images, clips raced by me, crashing into my body. I was oddly unphased physically and then I recalled this wasn't real. It was an odd version of augmented reality. A game. A light appeared over other silhouettes at the end luminescent lines connected to him. I had crossed the road to get closer. A force pushed me hard into the ground and I fell. A headlight and bumper started to materialize near my face in the blue landscape, but as I'd gotten up, the monochrome palette poured over it and a wide red line caught my attention. I got up on the sidewalk and everything felt stable and real for a moment as if I could see out of the illusion. Then a siren blared from one silhouette's mouth, the next and the next, down the line. I was bombarded with what felt like speed walking though I didn't move. The scenery rushed by me and I put my hands in front of my face to shield myself from the force. There were words above faces all on the way to something and it stretched into a single strand. I raced to cover my ears, felt the Bluetooth, pulled it off. Everything snapped out of existence.

The phone vibrated in my hand and anxiety took over once when I recognized my cell number on the display, again. In that moment, pain flooded through my head and I put my hand to my face only to be shocked that blood clung to my fingers. I pulled the hood of my sweater up as far as it'd go—if I don't see it, it didn't happen. I couldn't make sense of it, nor could I make sense why I was on the ground near a pawn shop. The phone vibrated again.

"Hello?" I answered, breathy.

"How's your night going?" The voice was disturbingly familiar.

I frowned. "I don't know how to answer that." I didn't. I found his calm demeanor to be unsettling. I saw him calmly kill two guys, calmly blast through busy intersections. Calm was not an indicator of this man's feelings.

"Why'd you run?" His voice now sounded light, airy. Like he was in a good mood.

"_ You _stole my car with me in it."

"Touche. You stole my phone and I tried not to _steal _you."

"Still, you stole my car... And you killed two guys," I retorted, justifying my actions.

"Three."

"What?" I paused.

"I'm not chasing you around town. Why don't we trade phones and call it a night?" He sounded convincing and I wanted it to be true, but...

"You killed people. How do I know the second I hand you this thing you won't kill me?" My words pushed closer and closer together.

"Yes, but they were all very bad people." He began to seem more human, funny even. As if I would almost forget he had been dangerous. Worse was how he sidestepped my question.

"I don't know." I took a step back and bumped into something. I whipped around only to find the carjacker with his mask down, sporting a grin, "How did you find me?"

He had put a hand on my shoulder and was quick to grab the phone from my lax grip. Once he inspected it, he looked down at me, hand still on my shoulder, holding me in place, "It's _that _simple." His grin faded away once he looked up, above my eyes. Without hesitation or consideration, he touched my forehead. I muffled a shriek and my hand shot up to whack his hand away, "What happened to you?"

I doubted highly that the phone obsessed, murdering carjacker cared about my head and I didn't exactly have an answer to offer. I ignored the question and put my hand out, waiting.

He quietly studied my face for a few more seconds and then handed me my phone.

"We're done? You won't come after me?" He turned away when I asked and I saw the glow of his phone cast light against him.

"Good night,_ Kate _."

"Ok," it had caught me off guard, especially from him, but he had had my phone, I'm sure my name was on it somewhere. "Goodnight, _Aiden _." As soon as I said the name, I froze and put a hand over my mouth. Can I take that back?

I turned around to see he, too, had turned—his face just as shocked, "What did you say?"

" God. I'm an idiot." I reprimanded myself and looked around for someone to witness my murder.

"Ah-uh,." He'd quickly gotten closer, a whole lot closer.

The front of his jacket brushed up against my knuckles and he towered over me. I took my hand off of my mouth and tried to step back, but he match my movements. He put his hands up to show he meant no harm, but I remembered the events earlier in the day and I didn't trust it, "Where'd you get the name?" His voice must have been light before, because now it was heavy. Serious.

"The news?"

"Nope," his eyes were fixed on me, no lie was getting through, "try again."

"I don't know. I heard one of those guys say it, I think." Was that true? Even I wasn't sure, but it was the only reasonable explanation.

"Hmm," he pulled my head back and grabbed my chin a lot softer than I thought he would, "You get into a fight?" This again? I hadn't had time to assess the damage, but I wondered how it looked if he was asking about it.

"It's fine." I'd tried to passively take my face from him and pull my hood more forward, but he touched it with his thumb. I took a clumsy step back and watched him closely-unsure of his motives.

"Right," he acted like _I _was the weird one. I pointed over my shoulder, unsure if he'd keep his promise and if I'd be free to go. His attention began to divide between me and the phone until even I'd been unsure if I'd spoken. He had put a hand in his pocket and made his way down the sidewalk and crossed over when he'd gotten further down, "Call your mother, she sounds worried."

I called my mom, at last, and arranged a ride so I could get myself out of the middle of god-knows-nowhere. When she pulled up in her compact SUV, it was past ten and I was out of steam by that point. Her first maternal instinct was to chastise me for missing my brother's funeral to shack up with a man. Initially bewildered by her claims, it became apparent that the carjacker had answered a call and they'd spoken. I wondered about what, but couldn't muster the energy to ask. Somewhere in the lecture she threw out, "your own family just to be loosey goosey with some car dealer." The accusation of missing my brother's funeral for a sexual escapade was unexpected and hit hard. I took this time to participate in a silent crying fit. I'd been lost, had my car stolen, held at gunpoint twice, on a high-speed chase, saw two guys get killed. I was a wreck.

"I'm going home tomorrow." I stopped crying suddenly and blurted it out.

She sucked her teeth, "You're bleeding?" I met her eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I fell." I wasn't sure how to answer her typical hostility.

"In my car?" 'Oh, here we go' was all I could think. "Don't touch anything back there."

"Oh no, my child is hurt, don't bleed on the upholstery," I chided, "Are you even human anymore?"

"You know, your father didn't even want to come with me because of you. You never consider how your family feels. But as soon as things go wrong, you come around looking for help." She drove painfully slow down the road, all attention on me, "I buried my son today. You're all I have left. Didn't you think I needed you there with me?"

I was unsure if it was her odd way of expressing she'd missed me or if was the hit I'd taken to the head earlier, but the dull ache began to throb and take the forefront of my concentration, "Mom?"

"You know, this behavior has to stop. You're not a child anymore. You can't be so selfish—" she ignored me.

"Mom!" I yelled, my patience was non-existent as the pain spread to the back of my head and the base of my neck. While her concern for me was endearing, her method left much to be desired.

Suddenly she stopped, "What? Too much?"

"I need to go to the hospital." I put my hand to my head and tilted it back.

"Why call me at all? You could have dialed 911?" She continued her unique form of expression and changed course.

We idled outside the hospital, a few feet before the entrance for the emergency room. Streetlights flooded the parking lot nearby and light poured from inside the building into the night. I had made it in one piece to the hospital, but found I preferred planes over driving with her. She'd become overbearing over the years and incapable of editing herself...on a plane the pressure in my ears had rendered me deaf the entire flight—this would have been a blessing now.

"Do you want me to come in?" She asked through the passenger-side window.

"No."

"I'm coming in. If you need to be at the hospital, it must be-"

"No, it's fine." Fine was my universal word for the exact opposite, but this wasn't common knowledge. "I'll call you later."

"I'm going to be sleeping, call me when you get home," she rolled up the window and rolled it down again, "I love you."

"I know," I did my best impression of a smile and wandered into the emergency room.

In a very short time, I learned that the emergency room was a complicated version of first come, first served. It was the initial idea, but they had a scale of emergencies that warranted breaking this rule. Head trauma was up there apparently because I was admitted and getting a CAT-scan within the same hour I'd showed up.

"It's a severe concussion." Mr. Ness, the E.R. doctor confirmed, though he'd told me before the scan that's what it was.

"Ok, so do I get medicine for the headaches? I'm tired and I have a flight tomorrow and I'm tired."

"You just said you're tired _twice, _" he looked at me for some sort of input, "short term memory loss, confusion," another pause and I offered him nothing, "is why you've told me you're tired and your want to leave about eight times now."

"I'm feeling it's because I want to impress those two things upon you."

He gave a gentle laugh, "Well, I have some good news and bad news," another pause for effect, "good news is that I can give you Tylenol for the pain, bad news is we have to keep you awake through the night, you cease any strenuous activity fit the next week and I'm going to highly recommend you don't travel long-distance for at least 48 hours. Do you have family in the area that can pick you up tomorrow?" His attention diverted to his laptop, I assumed to look at my chart. Laptop's were indeed the thing now, no more paper charts and messy handwriting: everything was electronic—it was that way in Boston, too. His face changed. The smile dropped. He didn't seem warm anymore.

"Is something the matter? My insurance?"

He grimaced, "No no. Everything's fine. I've got an emergency I've got to attend to."

"Wait!"

He turned around mid step, "the nurse will be in."

"Right, but I can't stay here. I have to get home. Can't I just get something a little stronger than Tylenol and be on my way?"

"You have a concussion, someone has to monitor you tonight in case there are complications; seizures, death…" Of course, why not?

"Seriously?" This was all seeming like the very opposite of what I'd wanted.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a waiting room full of people." He bolted out.

I touched the thin cool fabric of the hospital gown I donned and furrowed my eyebrows.

A nurse, Karen, came in moments later. She was chatty, but exhausted. She was sure to tell me she'd been there since 7am, and was supposed to have been home hours ago. With that perspective, I kept my negativity to myself and sat awake in the uncomfortable bed, watching the clock. Of all the things to be restricted from, why was it leaving?

I was forbidden to fall asleep and every five minutes, or so it seemed, someone completely new popped in. My eyes were heavy and my body wanted to sleep through the pain. The Tylenol Dr Ness prescribed couldn't touch the pain my head was radiating. I wanted to scream and was about to until I felt my phone vibrate. It was likely my mom, checking in or to chew me out.

"It's a concussion, doctor says I have to stay the night, can we skip round two of what a disappointment I am for tonight pick it up in the morning?" I was nonchalant; we'd done this dance before.

Silence followed by, "Hey." It was him! What did I call him before? Aiden. Adrenaline started to course through me and I was instantly on edge.

"Oh my god! You!?" I sat up quickly and felt the pull of my body demand I lay back down.

"Relax. Don't get loud," he breathed in deep and I tried to do the same, but couldn't, "but you're going to have to cancel your plans, you're leaving tonight."

"Right, because you're not only a criminal, but a doctor too?" I was feeling a little more ballsy than usual.

"Look at your monitor." His tone unchanged.

The only monitor I could think he referred to was the one beeping away as my heart picked up. Though come to think of it, I hadn't heard it in the last minute. I looked over and it no longer was the same black screen filled with meandering colored lines, but a video of about 5 people walking into the E.R. through the double sliding doors.

"What is this?" I watched the feed change camera angles.

"It's trouble."

"Wait, what? Why is trouble here, I gave you back your phone?" I tried my best to whisper and crawled on the cold tiled floor between the bed and the window.

"I know you have a concussion," he went right to asshole-mode, "but try and recall when I told you to get out of the car and you decided against that?"

"Yeah..." I didn't like where this was going.

"And_ then _, do you remember later on when I told you not to get out of the car and you decided against that?"

"You know, I am not currently suffering from short term memory loss, right?"

"It would have explained a lot." I heard something slam on his end of the line. "They're there for you."

"Oh god," I grabbed my head and tried to keep the room from spinning, "What am I supposed to do? Do I page the nurse?" I peeked back at the screen, it showed the corridor down the hall. The picture changed and it was the two elevators I'd taken earlier to get to this room on the fifth floor. The doors opened to reveal an empty elevator.

"Don't," it was stern, "you're in a room at the end of a hall, not one patient has been assigned to any of the rooms near you."

"So?"

"You don't find it the least bit suspicious that you've got a whole wing to yourself?" He sighed in frustration, "Someone there knows there's a hit on you; you're far from any help or witnesses."

Suddenly the doctors erratic behavior clicked. "Oh fuck." I peeked out from the floor behind my bed, "I'm going to fucking die. Why are they coming after me? I'm gonna die." I grabbed my clothes out of a bag of personal belongings I'd found in a wire compartment under the bed. The unrelenting pain pushed somewhere in the background and all I could think about was not dying in a hospital gown.

"I'm going to help get you out-"

"You're here?" I fumbled around in the bag and found my pants.

"No, but I can get you passed these guys," he paused his sentence and had appeared on the monitor. I pulled my jeans up, pulled my sweater on and stared at the monitor as he leaned close to the camera, "just actually _follow _my directions and you'll be alright."

I had the feeling it would be easier said than done. "I can't do this right now."

"Ok, then. You stay put, maybe they're selling Girl Scout cookies." He pulled away from the monitor and turned to do something out of my field of view.

"Wait," worried he was going to leave me in this predicament, "what do I have to do?" I couldn't find my shoes. Hospital socks it was, then.

The monitor turned off and I could hear a faint voice from my phone. I hesitantly put it up to my ear, "We'll talk like this," he paused and I had been able to hear the distinctive sound of a car door close on his side, "wait by the door and get ready to go left down the hall."

I stood up against the wall and watched the hall through the ajar door, waiting for the word to go.

The calm of the street felt surreal as I hurriedly walked along a sidewalk, safely encased in a group of strangers. My goal had been to put as much distance between myself and Henry, but I found that I'd constantly look behind me, wondering if it would be the man in the grey suit or the carjacker who emerged. Though, it wouldn't matter who survived; I had made it less than a block away before the five police cruisers zoomed by, gathering at the mouth of the alley. CTos was good like that; response time was quicker; the police knew ahead of time what they were going in to—it felt like a win-win for everyone.

Breaking from the crowd, I moved near the edge of the sidewalk towards the road, thinking back on my initial decision to not go to the police. They were conveniently right there. I hesitated, turning to continue down the sidewalk, then turning and heading back towards the cops. I'd happily tell the cops everything and I'd give them the phone. Maybe I wouldn't get in trouble for how absolutely destroyed Henry likely was. I'd feel safer with them than looking over my shoulder for my stay in Chicago.

It was a feeling that I hadn't anticipated, but the closer I drew near to the cops, the more panicked I felt. Everything for the last thirty minutes rapidly fired across my mind. It took the subtle vibrations of my newly acquired phone to be the proverbial pinch. I stopped dead in my tracks, dread washing over me in a rush of heat. I looked up at an officer, about 12 feet away, close enough that I could see his face and hear his voice-help was almost tangible. What if I yelled out to them? The phone spasmed again in my palm. I held the cell at waist height and did a double take when my phone number lit up across the bottom of the screen. I slid the answer-bar, "Hello?"

"You left?" The voice was so nonchalant that it took a second to register who it was.

"You're...alive?"

"I am," very matter-of-fact, "but I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I looked around, trying to pinpoint where he was, if we were thinking the same what. I didn't see him, though much couldn't be seen with the strobing lights, "Do what? I'm not doing anything." I took a few steps back.

"Good," he sounded indifferent, "Now then, you have something of mine."

"I'm sorry..." I was unsure what the indifference in his tone had meant, but seeing as how he had been casually homicidal, I doubted it was actual indifference, "I needed a phone, I need to call… I lost my phone in the car—"

"I noticed." the faint sound of people talking filtered in, "Would you like it back?" I could hear in his voice that he was walking, something in the way he breathed.

I turned around quickly and scanned the crowd for him—he wasn't there. Abruptly, my herd stopped and I along with them, awaiting the pedestrian light to turn, "Hello?" He'd been quiet.

"Can't see me?" The monotone had dissipated, leaving something that resembled a taunt. He was able to see me. He knew I was looking for him. He knew I was walking towards the cops. But, where was he?

I looked again and scanned the crowd, had even checked across the street to my right, but there was no-one quite as tall as I was sure he'd been, and no one was looking at me. "Where are you?" I didn't want to ask because I didn't want to know, but I was pretty sure there would be repercussions for taking his phone and I was thinking one if those repercussions would involve what happened to those guys from the alley.

I turned around in one last effort to spot him when I noticed a tall man donning a black hat—our eyes met. It was him! Every hair on the back of my neck stood up and my chest tightened as he slid between people effortlessly, intimidating, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You didn't exactly adhere to a single thing I said, but I'm not particularly up for killing you," monotone, he broke eye contact and looked up ahead at the pedestrian light. Everyone started crossing, "stay put."

Being rid of the phone would be a relief: it didn't seem like I'd have a moment to myself to call for help and I had a nagging suspicion that there was more to his phone than just a really good data plan. I took a step into the street and reluctantly looked back to see his pace quicken once I had moved. He killed one man, possibly two, stole my car, and broke every traffic law I could name—was he really going to simply trade phones and slither back to whatever hole he crawled out of? I doubted it. He had said I'd be alright, but I was far from it. I had begun to think that the only bargaining chip was this phone, but it was going to prove to be a double-edged sword.

The sound of metal brakes screaming under friction caught my attention and I looked up at the suspended tracks overhead. It was the commuter rail. I couldn't remember what they had called it, but I remembered hearing that they were extensive; as in 'far away from here', extensive. I considered the rusty metal staircase that stretched up to the train platform, across the street to my left, and then I looked back. He was three people away. His eyes changed as he drew the realization of what I was about to do before I even knew I was going to do it.

"Don't," was all he got out on the line before I took the phone from my ear and booked it.

My heavy footsteps that slammed against the street I had crossed now clanked against the metal stairs. In my rapid ascent, I was sure I'd unapologetically shoved quite a few people out of the way, but considering my circumstances they'd serve as obstacles if he pursued me this far. When I made it to the first landing I looked down the stairs, against my better judgement, to see him scrambling to make his way up—staring me down all the meanwhile. I raced up the second set of stairs to hear the first telephonic "ding" of the doors and nearly tripped over the threshold. I regained my composure as the doors slid closed behind me, signaled by another "ding". I gasped for air and turned to face the door only to be startled by the carjacker's face on the other side of the glass panel. He hit the door haphazardly with his fist, likely because I was protected by the simple fact that there were people everywhere, witnesses.

He put the phone to his ear, maintaining eye contact, as the train started to crawl forward. Keeping my eyes on him I hesitantly followed suit and listened through the now static line.

"Right," it was calm, and his face remained emotionless as the train strained to gain speed, "that wasn't quite what I meant by "stay there"."

"Uhhh…," was all I got out before I ran out of intelligible things to say.

"I'll be seeing you soon." Cold and something else underlying.

"I really...hope...not." I could hear the uneasiness in my own voice over the hum of the train and I had wondered if he could too.

The phone made an odd noise and in taking it away from my ear, I realized he'd hung up. Dread started to flare up. I was unsure how he planned on finding me, but I knew that before that happened I needed to find help.

I stayed on the train for almost an hour and a half and had gotten off a few stops short of completing the loop at Keele. I had time to assess what I had; the clothes on my back, my wallet safely tucked into the surprisingly functional pocket of my jeans, and a phone that I regretted taking. That was all I had. The rest of my life was back in Henry's little trunk, which was in an alley. I didn't dare go back to it in fear he'd drawn the same conclusion, or worse, those gray suits had friends and they were hanging around-so I pressed on and put my mind to finding my family.

It was almost six; the wake was over and my family would be heading out somewhere dinner, if they weren't there already. Calling my mom was my first impulse—she habitually looked at her phone any spare moment she had and would likely be sympathetic to my plight, but when I went to dial her number on the foreign phone, I had realized my dependency on technology was ultimately crippling: I didn't know it. I opted for plan b; find a cab and get to my family as fast as possible. I had no way of knowing where'd they be, but I knew the last place they had been; the funeral home in Parker Square.

A cab, though not cost effective, was efficient as far as time went. I wasn't surprised when I found the parking lot of the funeral home empty, the lights off and the front door locked, but I was upset and starting to feel helpless all the same. I parked my butt on the front steps and hoped one of my family members would show up once they'd realized I was missing.

A bit of time had gone by and my need to be preoccupied coupled with my habit of going on Reddit had me scrolling through my newly acquired phone's apps. Anything to put off the disappointment I'd had for missing the last chance to say goodbye to my brother. As soon as I thought it, a rush of emotion threatened to pour over the rim of my eyes.

"May as well go home." This is what I'd come for and it was over. I wasn't going to lose any sleep not seeing any of my family, though I was sure seeing two people murdered, the car chase, and the car-jacking stalker were going to cost me a few nights.

I looked up into the cloudy October sky. It was now 8PM; dark, cold, quiet. I half wanted to put on my jacket before I caught myself… it's far away, in an alley, along with at least one dead body. I sighed, got up off the steps and began to walk down the street.

Aimlessness and curiosity possessed me to continue to thumb through the phone. It was comforting to have the warm blue light hit my face. It felt normal. The first normal feeling for the day.

A lot of what the phone had to offer were odd apps I'd never heard of; some seemed shady as fuck. A "Digital Trips" Icon caught my eye, so I had scrolled down the loaded playlist; "invaders", "groovy", "coin run", "supersecretlolz". The app felt out of place for what I knew of him, which wasn't a lot, but most people found them relaxing; this man had no chill. "Pretty sure these things are illegal." I fished my ear-bud out of my back pocket, synced it to the phone and selected "groovy". It took the app a few moments to respond, but when it had, it froze and crashed. I reopened the App, finding all trips had been greyed out. The app wouldn't respond again, but I tried selecting "groovy" despite this. It seemed to freeze again, then read 'loading supersecretlolz'. I had just about enough time to raise an eyebrow, sigh in annoyance, and try to close out of it before it loaded.

My vision blurred and the blue glow of the phone engulfed my face until everything was under blue light. I looked up and out of the brightness, confused about what was happening. It felt oddly calming if not for the thudding in my ears being progressively deafening. I turned my head to realize there was a drag in what I perceived to be real-time...I had the wherewithal to know this wasn't real-time, but nothing moved in real-time here. I could see people standing in the distance, a line going around the block.

I quickly crossed the street, "Excuse me," I called out. There was no response. I put my hand on someone's shoulder and when I went to nudge them, the line moved quickly, like they were on a bike chain. The line stopped and I saw a familiar face. It was none other than the carjacker. His silhouette filled in and it was like he was staring out, frozen. A line appeared above his head. I clicked the words faster than I could read them. A pit in my stomach formed, as if I'd looped on a roller coaster. Words, images, clips raced by me, crashing into my body. I was oddly unphased physically and then I recalled this wasn't real. It was an odd version of augmented reality. A game. A light appeared over other silhouettes at the end luminescent lines connected to him. I had crossed the road to get closer. A force pushed me hard into the ground and I fell. A headlight and bumper started to materialize near my face in the blue landscape, but as I'd gotten up, the monochrome palette poured over it and a wide red line caught my attention. I got up on the sidewalk and everything felt stable and real for a moment as if I could see out of the illusion. Then a siren blared from one silhouette's mouth, the next and the next, down the line. I was bombarded with what felt like speed walking though I didn't move. The scenery rushed by me and I put my hands in front of my face to shield myself from the force. There were words above faces all on the way to something and it stretched into a single strand. I raced to cover my ears, felt the Bluetooth, pulled it off. Everything snapped out of existence.

The phone vibrated in my hand and anxiety took over once when I recognized my cell number on the display, again. In that moment, pain flooded through my head and I put my hand to my face only to be shocked that blood clung to my fingers. I pulled the hood of my sweater up as far as it'd go—if I don't see it, it didn't happen. I couldn't make sense of it, nor could I make sense why I was on the ground near a pawn shop. The phone vibrated again.

"Hello?" I answered, breathy.

"How's your night going?" The voice was disturbingly familiar.

I frowned. "I don't know how to answer that." I didn't. I found his calm demeanor to be unsettling. I saw him calmly kill two guys, calmly blast through busy intersections. Calm was not an indicator of this man's feelings.

"Why'd you run?" His voice now sounded light, airy. Like he was in a good mood.

"You stole my car with me in it."

"Touche. You stole my phone and I tried not to steal you."

"Still, you stole my car... And you killed two guys," I retorted, justifying my actions.

"Three."

"What?" I paused.

"I'm not chasing you around town. Why don't we trade phones and call it a night?" He sounded convincing and I wanted it to be true, but...  
"You killed people. How do I know the second I hand you this thing you won't kill me?" My words pushed closer and closer together.

"Yes, but they were all very bad people." He began to seem more human, funny even. As if I would almost forget he had been dangerous. Worse was how he sidestepped my question.

"I don't know." I took a step back and bumped into something. I whipped around only to find the carjacker with his mask down, sporting a grin, "How did you find me?"

He had put a hand on my shoulder and was quick to grab the phone from my lax grip. Once he inspected it, he looked down at me, hand still on my shoulder, holding me in place, "It's that simple." His grin faded away once he looked up, above my eyes. Without hesitation or consideration, he touched my forehead. I muffled a shriek and my hand shot up to whack his hand away, "What happened to you?"

I doubted highly that the phone obsessed, murdering carjacker cared about my head and I didn't exactly have an answer to offer. I ignored the question and put my hand out, waiting.

He quietly studied my face for a few more seconds and then handed me my phone.

"We're done? You won't come after me?" He turned away when I asked and I saw the glow of his phone cast light against him.

"Good night, Kate ."

"Ok," it had caught me off guard, especially from him, but he had had my phone, I'm sure my name was on it somewhere. "Goodnight, Aiden ." As soon as I said the name, I froze and put a hand over my mouth. Can I take that back?

I turned around to see he, too, had turned—his face just as shocked, "What did you say?"

" God. I'm an idiot." I reprimanded myself and looked around for someone to witness my murder.

"Ah-uh,." He'd quickly gotten closer, a whole lot closer. The front of his jacket brushed up against my knuckles and he towered over me. I took my hand off of my mouth and tried to step back, but he matched my movements. He put his hands up to show he meant no harm, but I remembered the events earlier in the day and I didn't trust it, "Where'd you get the name?" His voice must have been light before, because now it was heavy. Serious.

"The news?"

"Nope," his eyes were fixed on me, no lie was getting through, "try again."

"I don't know. I heard one of those guys say it, I think." Was that true? Even I wasn't sure, but it was the only reasonable explanation.

"Hmm," he pulled my head back and grabbed my chin a lot softer than I thought he would, "You get into a fight?" This again? I hadn't had time to assess the damage, but I wondered how it looked if he was asking about it.

"It's fine." I'd tried to passively take my face from him and pull my hood more forward, but he touched it with his thumb. I took a clumsy step back and watched him closely-unsure of his motives.

"Right," he acted like I was the weird one. I pointed over my shoulder, unsure if he'd keep his promise and if I'd be free to go. His attention began to divide between me and the phone until even I'd been unsure if I'd spoken. He had put a hand in his pocket and made his way down the sidewalk and crossed over when he'd gotten further down, "Call your mother, she sounds worried."

_

I called my mom, at last, and arranged a ride so I could get myself out of the middle of god-knows-nowhere. When she pulled up in her compact SUV, it was past ten and I was out of steam by that point. Her first maternal instinct was to chastise me for missing my brother's funeral to shack up with a man. Initially bewildered by her claims, it became apparent that the carjacker had answered a call and they'd spoken. I wondered about what, but couldn't muster the energy to ask. Somewhere in the lecture she threw out, "your own family just to be loosey goosey with some car dealer." The accusation of missing my brother's funeral for a sexual escapade was unexpected and hit hard. I took this time to participate in a silent crying fit. I'd been lost, had my car stolen, held at gunpoint twice, on a high-speed chase, saw two guys get killed. I was a wreck.

"I'm going home tomorrow." I stopped crying suddenly and blurted it out.

She sucked her teeth, "You're bleeding?" I met her eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I fell." I wasn't sure how to answer her typical hostility.

"In my car?" 'Oh, here we go' was all I could think. "Don't touch anything back there."

"Oh no, my child is hurt, don't bleed on the upholstery," I chided, "Are you even human anymore?"

"You know, your father didn't even want to come with me because of you. You never consider how your family feels. But as soon as things go wrong, you come around looking for help." She drove painfully slow down the road, all attention on me, "I buried my son today. You're all I have left. Didn't you think I needed you there with me?"

I was unsure if it was her odd way of expressing she'd missed me or if was the hit I'd taken to the head earlier, but the dull ache began to throb and take the forefront of my concentration, "Mom?"

"You know, this behavior has to stop. You're not a child anymore. You can't be so selfish—" she ignored me.

"Mom!" I yelled, my patience was non-existent as the pain spread to the back of my head and the base of my neck. While her concern for me was endearing, her method left much to be desired.

Suddenly she stopped, "What? Too much?"

"I need to go to the hospital." I put my hand to my head and tilted it back.

"Why call me at all? You could have dialed 911?" She continued her unique form of expression and changed course.

We idled outside the hospital, a few feet before the turn in for the emergency room. Streetlights flooded the parking lot nearby and light poured from inside the building into the night. I had made it in one piece to the hospital, but found I preferred planes over driving with her. She'd become overbearing over the years and incapable of editing herself...on a plane the pressure in my ears had rendered me deaf the entire flight—this would have been a blessing now.

"Do you want me to come in?" She asked through the passenger-side window.

"No."

"I'm coming in. If you need to be at the hospital, it must be-"

"No, it's fine." Fine was my universal word for the exact opposite, but this wasn't common knowledge. "I'll call you later."

"I'm going to be sleeping, call me when you get home," she rolled up the window and rolled it down again, "I love you."

"I know," I did my best impression of a smile and wandered into the emergency room.

In a very short time, I learned that the emergency room was a complicated version of first come, first served. It was the initial idea, but they had a scale of emergencies that warranted breaking this rule. Head trauma was up there apparently because I was admitted and getting a CAT-scan within the same hour I'd showed up.

"It's a severe concussion." Mr. Ness, the E.R. doctor confirmed, though he'd told me before the scan that's what it was.

"Ok, so do I get medicine for the headaches? I'm tired and I have a flight tomorrow and I'm tired."

"You just said you're tired twice," he looked at me for some sort of input, "short term memory loss, confusion," another pause and I offered him nothing, "it's why you've told me you're tired and your want to leave about eight times now."

"I'm feeling it's because I want to impress those two things upon you."

He gave a gentle laugh, "Well, I have some good news and bad news," another pause for effect, "good news is that I can give you Tylenol for the pain, bad news is we have to keep you awake through the night, you cease any strenuous activity fit the next week and I'm going to highly recommend you don't travel long-distance for at least 48 hours. Do you have family in the area that can pick you up tomorrow?" His attention diverted to his laptop, I assumed to look at my chart. Laptop's were indeed the thing now, no more paper charts and messy handwriting: everything was electronic—it was that way in Boston, too. His face changed. The smile dropped. He didn't seem warm anymore.

"Is something the matter? My insurance?"

He grimaced, "No no. Everything's fine. I've got an emergency I've got to attend to."

"Wait!"

He turned around mid step, "the nurse will be in."

"Right, but I can't stay here. I have to get home. Can't I just get something a little stronger than Tylenol and be on my way?"

"You have a concussion, someone has to monitor you tonight in case there are complications; seizures, death… " Of course, why not?

"Seriously?" This was all seeming like the very opposite of what I'd wanted.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a waiting room full of people." He bolted out.

I touched the thin cool fabric of the hospital gown I donned and furrowed my eyebrows.

A nurse, Karen, came in moments later. She was chatty, but exhausted. She was sure to tell me she'd been there since 7am, and was supposed to have been home hours ago. With that perspective, I kept my negativity to myself and sat awake in the uncomfortable bed, watching the clock. Of all the things to be restricted from, why was it leaving?

I was forbidden to fall asleep and every five minutes, or so it seemed, someone completely new popped in. My eyes were heavy and my body wanted to sleep through the pain. The Tylenol Dr Ness prescribed couldn't touch the pain my head was radiating. I wanted to scream and was about to until I felt my phone vibrate. It was likely my mom, checking in or to chew me out.

"It's a concussion, doctor says I have to stay the night, can we skip round two of what a disappointment I am for tonight pick it up in the morning?" I was nonchalant; we'd done this dance before.

Silence followed by, "Hey." It was him! What did I call him before? Aiden. Adrenaline started to course through me and I was instantly on edge.

"Oh my god! You!?" I sat up quickly and felt the pull of my body demand I lay back down.

"Relax. Don't get loud," he breathed in deep and I tried to do the same, but couldn't, "but you're going to have to cancel your plans, you're leaving tonight."

"Right, because you're not only a criminal, but a doctor too?" I was feeling a little more ballsy than usual.

"Look at your monitor." His tone unchanged.

The only monitor I could think he referred to was the one beeping away as my heart picked up. Though come to think of it, I hadn't heard it in the last minute. I looked over and it no longer was the same black screen filled with meandering colored lines, but a video of about 5 people walking into the E.R. through the double sliding doors.

"What is this?" I watched the feed change camera angles.

"It's trouble."

"Wait, what? Why is trouble here, I gave you back your phone?" I tried my best to whisper and crawled on the cold tiled floor between the bed and the window.

"I know you have a concussion," he went right to asshole-mode, "but try and recall when I told you to get out of the car and you decided against that?"

"Yeah..." I didn't like where this was going.

"And then , do you remember later on when I told you not to get out of the car and you decided against that?"

"You know, I am not currently suffering from short term memory loss, right?"

"It would have explained a lot." I heard something slam on his end of the line. "They're there for you."

"Oh god," I grabbed my head and tried to keep the room from spinning, "What am I supposed to do? Do I page the nurse?" I peeked back at the screen, it showed the corridor down the hall. The picture changed and it was the two elevators I'd taken earlier to get to this room on the fifth floor. The doors opened to reveal an empty elevator.

"Don't," it was stern, "you're in a room at the end of a hall, not one patient has been assigned to any of the rooms near you."

"So?"

"You don't find it the least bit suspicious that you've got a whole wing to yourself?" He sighed in frustration, "Someone there knows there's a hit on you; you're far from any help or witnesses."

Suddenly the doctors erratic behavior clicked. "Oh fuck." I peeked out from the floor behind my bed, "I'm going to fucking die. Why are they coming after me? I'm gonna die." I grabbed my clothes out of a bag of personal belongings I'd found in a wire compartment under the bed. The unrelenting pain pushed somewhere in the background and all I could think about was not dying in a hospital gown.

"I'm going to help get you out-"

"You're here?" I fumbled around in the bag and found my pants.

"No, but I can get you passed these guys," he paused his sentence and had appeared on the monitor. I pulled my jeans up, pulled my sweater on and stared at the monitor as he leaned close to the camera, "just actually follow my directions and you'll be alright."

I had the feeling it would be easier said than done. "I can't do this right now."  
"Ok, then. You stay put, maybe they're selling Girl Scout cookies." He pulled away from the monitor and turned to do something out of my field of view.

"Wait," worried he was going to leave me in this predicament, "what do I have to do?" I couldn't find my shoes. Hospital socks it was, then.

The monitor turned off and I could hear a faint voice from my phone. I hesitantly put it up to my ear, "We'll communicate like this," he paused and I had been able to hear the distinctive sound of a car door close on his side, "wait by the door and get ready to go left down the hall."

I stood up against the wall and watched the hall through the ajar door, waiting for the word to go.


End file.
